


Carver

by Kauri



Series: NSFW Mini-Headcanons [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Carver is well hung, Fluff and Smut, I think I forgot to mention it in the story but he is, I want it on my tombstone, Other, So Sorry about that, also this is my favorite first line of any fic I've ever written, angsty ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 21:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14601828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/pseuds/Kauri
Summary: To love Carver Hawke, is to love a porcupine.





	Carver

To love Carver Hawke, is to love a porcupine.

An easily offended porcupine, in a state of constant outrage. Bristles protecting a surprisingly vulnerable and endearing underbelly.

The first time you meet him, you’re certain you hate him. The second, and third time too. He scowls, and leans so far towards surliness, that he practically spends his days dry-humping his own sour expression. 

He’s frustrated. But it takes you a while to realize that he’s frustrated with  _himself._  Frustrated at his own limitations, and shortcomings. That his arms aren’t long enough to shield those he cares for from all the harshness and injustice of the world. In every scrape, and dent he sees  _failure._  Sees every time he was slower, and weaker, and more foolish than the world required him to be. For a long, long time, that bitterness keeps you away, but you learn to see the quiet ferocity in him. The selflessness. The gentleness. The love. Though  _love_ seems too small a word for how much that man cares.

And he cares enough to nearly let it ruin him.

The wall beside Carver’s bed is covered with fist-sized holes. You know there are nights when he lays beneath them, counting them, like failures. But there are other nights, when  _you_  lay beneath them –– beneath  _him_  –– that the world suddenly becomes something  _worth_  savoring. 

Carver fucks just like he fights –– just like he loves –– without restraint. He gives every ounce of himself without hesitation. It’s entirely overwhelming –– and irresistible –– all that strength, and coiled passion. Mouth. Tongue. Fingers. Cock. All that quiet ferocity fixed on  _you,_  and your pleasure.  _“Is it good?”_  He pants, eyes wide.  _“Show me how to make it good for you. Tell me, please.”_  He needs no instruction past the first few times, but he always asks for it, always begs to be allowed to love you properly. You try to give him what he asks for, but when he presses himself inside you, hips surging steady, and strong, fingers gentle, mouth bruising, you don’t have the words, and all you can do is call out his name as you shatter against him.  _Carver._

He trembles. Swears. Laughs as he draws another orgasm from you. The sound of it is high and bright, and heartbreakingly  _young._  For beneath all the frowns, and the hard corners of his kisses, there’s an  _exuberance_  to Carver that’s utterly addictive. A  _joy_  that burns as bright as his rages. And when his own pleasure peaks, and he spills within you, the sound he makes is fierce, and joyful, and you wonder how you ever lived without that sound.

Carver collapses against you, the strength of those muscular arms finally giving out. You feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest, and you wonder how you ever lived without  _him._

He finds tenderness in your arms. Forgiveness. Hope. You find peace –– strange how someone whose soul is so disquieted can make the world around you go so still. He links your hands together in the darkness, presses tiny kisses against your knuckles.  _“Yours.”_  He says, voice soft, and earnest.  _“I am yours. Always.”_

But when Carver goes to the deep roads with his brother, he doesn’t come back. Hawke tells you  _not dead._  But he can’t be certain. And the world around you isn’t still anymore, it’s empty.

And colorless.

And cold.

**Author's Note:**

> First time I played DA2 I accidentally killed Carver, cuz apparently when you listen to him AND Anders at the same time, bad things happen.


End file.
